


Black Sheep

by bylaude



Series: Summer Wind [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angry Dad Jeralt, BAMF Byleth, Byleth has such stronk big sis energy that they'll listen to her, Byleth in Mercenary Mode, Byleth struggles with comprehending her death and revival, Chaotic Dumbass Byleth, Claude Being a Little Shit, Claude Trolling, Cool Big Sis Byleth, Dark Comedy, Female My Unit | Byleth, Gen, Idealistic Dimitri, Pre Release, Pre-Timeskip, Sweet talker Edelgard, byleth hates being called a lady, dimitri being the peacemaker of both his childhood squad and the lord trio is rly funny to me, drinking game: take a shot whenever you see the word "bandit", duality of byleth, eddie probably has a huge rescue crush on her, even if she's not their professor yet lol, house leaders debate on mercy vs judgment, pre-release, she's scary and sharp but also a god tier idiot, starts off serious but devolves into dumbassery lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 07:44:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19902226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bylaude/pseuds/bylaude
Summary: A walk away from the mercenary camp leads to death and Byleth's first encounter with three lost lamb in the woods. [Pre-Release, Pre-Timeskip]Rated for non-graphic violence. No actual bandits were harmed in the making of this fiction.





	Black Sheep

**Author's Note:**

> Can't wait to see how WILDLY OOC this is when the game finally comes out lmao

She died.

Byleth died.

_I died._

No matter the times she repeats it in her head, the idea of it is hard to grasp, when she’s still alive and kicking, swinging her sword in almost mindless intuition as she fights, _sweating breathing pulse-running_ – but she _knows_ in her gut what happened. She died, too easily, to this shoddy axeman who is now screaming at her like she ate his firstborn child.

 _Why are you so pissed?_ She thinks to herself, darkly. _I’m the one who should be pissed off, right?_

Byleth likes to think she’s only doing this out of spite and pettiness. Who even _dies_ at the hand of a bandit? Never mind death; she’d never live it down if her father and the mercenaries ever found out. Her rational mind ignores that her poor father would be too torn up about her dying at all to even care how it happened, instead focusing on her rage and shame for such a pathetic downfall.

It’s easier to do so, than to think about how _wrong_ and disembodied she feels in her own skin.

Time. Death. Untouchable things that will always affect humans, but never the other way around.

Time. Death.

Time.

_Death._

It hurts.

(What hurts?)

_My back hurts._

(Everything. Her flesh, her bones, her _soul_ –)

Byleth lets her crest unfurl. It glows with old power as her blade resonates with energy, casting her in fire-light as she lunges forth, cleaving through the bandit’s axe like butter. He screams with fright and staggers from the impact, falling onto his back, and cowers as she slowly steps forward with the gait of a predator.

Paying no mind to the absolute terror on the bandit’s face, Byleth presses her heel painfully into his sternum, pinning him to the ground. There’s no mercy in her, no pity or hesitation on her face as she raises her sword, flipping the hilt to hold it into a reverse grip, and brings it down–

“Stop!”

A lance swipes from her right, deflecting her sword before she can end the man’s life. Startled, Byleth blinks out of her daze, instinctively squeezing the hilt just enough so it wouldn’t be knocked out of her hands, and turns her gaze to blue eyes.

The boy, barely a man, flinches from her stare, but stands firm with resolve. “We've…we’ve won,” he says, a touch warily, “There’s no need to kill him, is there?”

Byleth blinks again, considering him. It’s oddly difficult to concentrate; the haze of disorientation and rage has yet to lift from her psyche. She struggles to remember who he is, where she is, what she’d been doing – and is disturbed to realise her memories of the past few minutes are hazy at best.

She glances at her sword. There’s blood coating it, blood on her sleeves and armour. _What was I doing?_

Death. What happened after death? What happened after _Sothis_?

 _Ah, that’s right,_ Byleth focuses on him, _The girl, the two boys… The bandits. I fought alongside them._

Byleth exhales measuredly. As unsettling as her loss of control had been, at least she hadn’t turned her rage on those kids she had meant to protect. She looks at the young man in front of her, blond and blue-eyed, almost innocent if not for the taint of darkness and grim determination in his gaze. Byleth tilts her head curiously.

“You want to spare him? Even though none of them would’ve showed you the same mercy?”

“Yes,” he replies bluntly, expression hardening with resolution.

He’s an odd one. There aren’t many who would make such a decision; even her father, a former knight whose moral code is far too honourable for a mercenary for hire, wouldn’t think twice about killing a few bandits. Byleth can’t say she holds bandits in very high regard, either; maybe she did things for money, but at least she did not raid, steal and pillage. At least she did not profit off of the suffering of others.

He meets her eyes boldly in a staredown. “Murder, for any reason, is inexcusable. Please, I implore you, don’t dirty your hands.”

 _Ah,_ she thinks, _So this is what this is about._

Maybe it’s not so much their lives that he cares about, but moral integrity. Byleth _looks_ at him, wondering why anyone would try so hard to be good. It isn’t her business to ask, but she wonders, anyway. He holds himself like someone who has something to prove.

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” he tries, unable to read her expression and silence and still attempting to dissuade her. The way he holds his lance tightly tells her he might just fight her on this matter. It makes her smile dryly. Fight for a man who would’ve killed him, or worse? The idea is laughable.

“Do you really believe that?” She asks lowly, “Even though people like him have stained their own hands and done many more inexcusable things?”

She sees him swallow hard. “I–”

“Dimitri!” Someone shouts, as two young adults run up to them.

Byleth has to think hard to place their features, before remembering they’re the other two whom she had defended. Their abrupt appearance makes her remember, with startling clarity, of what had happened. She had shielded the girl.

An axe digging into her back, pain bursting across her skin as flesh renders from bone, before all feeling abruptly ends with a sharp, sickening _crack_.

Byleth presses her heel deeper, making the bandit beneath her foot whimper. This bastard killed her, split her spine in two.

_…He can’t complain if she does the same to him, right?_

“Edelgard! Claude!” The young man startles, his previous concern for the doomed bandit momentarily gone as he surveys the state of his companions. “You’re not injured, are you?”

“Of course not,” the other male sighs, twirling the arrow in his hands deftly before slotting it back into his quiver. “It takes more than that to keep us down.”

“I don’t want to hear that from _you_ , Claude. But never mind that,” the only girl of the group says, her voice surprisingly sharp despite her round face and gentle features. She casts a disdainful look to the bandit at Byleth’s heel, a scowl crossing her pretty visage. “The rest escaped, but I see we have one last straggler. The leader, was it? What shall we do with him?”

“Were you going to kill him?” The one called Claude asks, directing the question to Byleth and glancing at the sword in her hand. Byleth sees him look at Dimitri, next, a strange expression of understanding and something else flashing across his face. There’s a condescending amusement about his manner, but it’s gone before she can think further on it.

“Maybe,” she says vaguely, “Your friend here was trying to stop me.”

“What?” Edelgard’s brow furrows as she turns to look at the young blond man. “Were you proposing we let him go, Dimitri? When he led his fellows this close to the monastery? We should be rid of them before they can hurt someone else.”

He frowns back. “We’ve already defeated them. No doubt this would cow them from straying so close again – they’ll leave us be from now on, I’m sure of it.”

“And go where? To one of the nearby towns and harass the commoners?” She sighs, hissing through her teeth. “Think of the people, Dimitri. We can’t have riff-raff roaming about, free to terrorise the masses–”

“We’ll capture them, then! No one would turn to the life of crime if they had a choice – perhaps we can rehabilitate them–”

Claude interjects, next, humming. “Interesting idea, except we live in a monastery, not a prison. Don’t look at me like that, Dimitri. I’m just saying it’s not very practical–”

“Well, what do you suggest?” Edelgard asks irritably. “And don’t dodge the question, Claude. You agree that they should put down, then, right?”

Byleth watches this, the haze over her mind beginning to lift, only to give way to mounting irritation. They’re not even talking about this particular bandit, anymore, just having some dumb philosophical debate on whether bandits in general deserve mercy or death.

“Hey.”

They ignore her, still debating with fervour. It just annoys her all the more. She takes in a breath, closing her eyes and trying to count to ten.

“Are _you_ going to do it? It’s only fair if you’re passing the sentence. Say, Eddie, have you even killed anyone before? Maybe don’t speak so lightly about it.”

_Seven, six…_

“I said _no dodging the question_ , Claude–”

_Five, four…_

“We can’t kill them!” Dimitri snaps, ice blue eyes bright with fury. “How can you say that so easily? Once you take a life, you can’t give it back–!”

_Ah, to hell with that._

“HEY!” Byleth roars, her voice thunderous in the clearing and making all three fall silent, turning wide eyes to her. She must look pretty angry, because they collectively take a step back. It’s a bit funny how in sync they are, when a moment ago they were arguing and nearly screaming at each other. She’s too aggravated to feel amused. “ _Enough_. There's a time and place for this, and now is _not_ it. I’m surprised any of you are still alive, with the way you bicker like children.”

Edelgard looks too stunned to respond for a moment, mouth falling open in her shock before it purses into a frown. Dimitri likewise grimaces, choosing to avert his gaze as a shadow falls upon his face, chastened. Byleth thinks the one called Claude looks a bit annoyed to be scolded like that, but he covers it up with a sheepish smile and holds up his hands placatingly.

Byleth ignores all of them to look at the bandit. He squirms, whimpering beneath her furious gaze. He starts to beg for his life, but it flies over her head as she ponders over her decision.

She thinks heavily about killing him, which had been what she’d intended to begin with, but remembers that she’d never once killed out of hatred before. She’s fought, sure, even broke some bones as a result of a lost temper when she was younger and more impulsive, but her father has always impressed upon her the importance of only doing the deed when it’s necessary – to save herself, or to save others.

_If you become too used to killing, you’ll lose all value in human life._

Byleth brings her sword up. Dimitri shouts.

“No, wait–!”

The bandit screams – and doesn’t stop. Byleth steps away, watching apathetically as the grown man curls into a ball, clutching his hand to his chest like a wounded animal.

His thumb remains on the ground, bleeding and unmoving.

“Oh,” she hears Claude say behind her, an odd tone to his voice.

“He won’t be able to hold an axe anymore,” Byleth says, not caring when the bandit pulls himself to his feet and shouts profanities at her as he flees, like a dog with its tail between its legs. She turns to look at Edelgard and Dimitri, glaring. “Now he’s alive and won’t be a threat to anyone. Fair?”

Dimitri blanches. Edelgard winces.

“That…that works,” the girl says quietly.

“This isn’t what I wanted,” Dimitri murmurs with consternation, looking guilty like he had been the one to do the deed.

“Won’t he just be able to train his non-dominant hand?” Claude asks, more curious than horrified by her actions.

Byleth pulls a cloth from her pocket and wipes down her blade of blood. Her mind is still buzzing, but at least she can hear herself _think_. It’s the best she can hope for, to not look like a damned fool in front of these strangers as she goes through the motions like she had not just _died_.

_A time and place for everything._

Byleth repeats it like a mantra, trying to ground herself.

_A time and place for everything._

“It’ll take years and only if he uses a one-handed axe,” she says, without looking at him. Byleth takes a second look at her sword before sheathing it. She pockets the cloth, intending to wash it later. “Too much work for a bandit. Best bet is that he’ll try to rob someone with a knife in the nearest town, fail, and then get arrested by authorities. Bandits have no loyalty. His pals wouldn’t take him back; they’ll likely just follow a new leader.”

There’s an awkward silence as she rights herself, dusting off her clothes. Edelgard steps forward slowly, offering her a dagger.

“Here,” she says, which confuses Byleth for a moment until she realises it’s hers. Edelgard sees her brow furrow and smiles tentatively. “Did you forget? You threw this at one of the men who cornered me earlier.”

“Uh, right, thanks.” Byleth takes it after a pause, flipping it to check both sides before sheathing it. It’s not often her dagger sees use, especially in fights. It’s more of a security item than anything, like how a child would cling to their favourite blanket or toy for comfort, though she doesn’t tell any of them that. An old keepsake from her father.

It brings up the question of how out of it she was, to have actually thrown it.

Her back twinges. Byleth lies to herself that she’s just getting old. Who even gets backaches, anyway?

“Those uniforms,” she starts, after much deliberation, “You’re students of the Officers Academy, aren’t you? What are you doing so far from the monastery?”

“Oh, right, that,” Claude smiles, the kind that oozes charisma and charm. Byleth barely sees it and looks straight into his eyes, struck by a strange sense of dissonance. His smile is fake. “We’re students there, yes. We were just having a training exercise when those bandits showed up.”

He laughs as he lifts his yellow cape, torn and ripped in some places where he had a close brush with death.

“I got the worst of it, as you can see.”

Edelgard, though previously smiling at her with a reserved sort of shyness, instantly scowls and rounds on him. “That would be because you ran off.”

He just laughs again, unruffled by her displeasure. “Too true! I was the first to make a strategic retreat,” he turns to Byleth, sighing with faux regret, “Everything would’ve worked out, too, if these two hadn’t followed me and ruined everything.”

Edelgard and Dimitri send him twin looks of exasperation. The latter sighs. “Claude…”

Byleth just raises a brow. There’s a good chance he’s just talking smack to annoy the other two, judging by the cheeky smile he flashes them and the way Edelgard turns away as she rolls her eyes, but she gets the sense he’s not really joking at all.

Though he stayed in the end to help fight off the bandits, maybe he only did because Byleth showed up and had flattened half of their forces in her fit of rage, giving them the chance to fight back.

She snorts.

“Well, running would’ve been the smart thing to do. You’re basically announcing that you’re nobles by wandering about in that uniform,” she says airily, matter-of-fact as she gestures at their clothes. “If you had been caught, best thing you could’ve hoped for is an attempt to extract a ransom from your families. Otherwise, there would’ve been nothing left of you once they’re done.”

“Right?!” Claude exclaims, unperturbed by her morbid observation. “When you put it like that, why _wouldn’t_ I run? These two wanted to stand their ground and fight!”

“You have no dignity,” Edelgard snipes, unamused, “They’re bandits, hardly trained. We could’ve taken them together.”

“In this small a clearing and outnumbered one to five?” Claude challenges with a raised brow, shaking his head. “Come on, Eddie.”

“For the last time, _don’t call me that_.”

“Let’s not fight,” Dimitri sighs, looking rather unfortunate to be sandwiched between the two. “It’s over now, isn’t it? There’s little sense in arguing about this. And how would we look to our saviour?”

Edelgard rights herself, though she does send one last nasty look at Claude before turning to Byleth. She clears her throat. “My apologies. We’ve been rather rude, haven’t we?”

Byleth stares at them. She still feels out of it, but for entirely different reasons now. “Uh, it’s fine…”

“My name is Edelgard von Hresvelg,” she says, placing her hand over her heart and bowing daintily. It makes Byleth’s brows raise; noble girls usually curtsy. “Thank you for aiding us. You really saved us by showing up when you did.”

Not one to care much for verbal thanks, Byleth thinks shortly about asking for a reward price. Her back twinges. She grimaces. _Yeah, let’s not push it…_

“Don’t mention it,” she says instead, “Just be careful next time.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us, too?” Claude asks, still smiling. Byleth thinks she might snap at him again, but Edelgard chooses to regard him coolly this time.

“And rob you of the opportunity to speak? Never. You do so love talking, after all.”

Byleth can’t help her immediate reaction. She snorts, clapping a hand over her mouth a second too late.

As Claude gasps theatrically and clutches his chest, Dimitri ignores all of this with surprising ease and grace, with the air of someone too used to their antics. He steps forward.

“I’m Dimitri of House Blaiddyd. I apologise for our earlier…disgraceful conduct,” he winces slightly and she knows he’s referring to the bandit debate. He shakes his head, smiling anew. “I, too, thank you for your help. May we have your name, Miss…?”

“Byleth,” she shrugs, “Just Byleth.”

Oddly, they look a bit confused by her introduction, sharing a look with one another. Claude approaches with an easy smile, taking her hand.

“Lady Byleth, then! Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Claude von Riegan.”

She sees him bending down and quickly snatches her hand out of his hold, laughing a bit too loudly. Kisses from nobles often come with strings attached.

“Hah! You don’t have to call me that. I’m no lady.”

Claude raises a brow, opening his mouth. She rushes to interject.

“Just Byleth,” she repeats, more sharply than intended. He tilts his head, the small braid on the side of his face hanging in his eye as he regards her keenly, before stepping back with a relenting smile.

“My mistake,” he bows, “ _Just Byleth_ , it is.”

 _This guy,_ Byleth stares at him, holding back a sigh. _Something about him feels mocking. Smiles too much. He’s one of those scheming nobles, huh?_

Really, all three of them fit into a different archetype of what Byleth dubs the “Typical Highborn.” Edelgard is a textbook distant and regal sort, although Byleth gets the sense that she’s somehow won her favour by defending them earlier. That’s good; she’s pissed off her kind before and it wasn’t pretty. It’s something Byleth would rather avoid doing again, if possible.

It involved a request to murder an unfortunate suitor to the nobleman’s own daughter, to which Jeralt pretended to follow through, a faked death, and the truth coming out about five months later when said daughter eloped with the not-quite-dead suitor. They all had a price on their head after that, so obviously Byleth did the only natural thing to do and faked her own death to collect the reward money.

 _That_ deception did not last nearly as long – maybe two hours, tops – and they had to cross two country borders before the coast was clear. Her father really chewed her out for that, but, hey, at least she ate well for the next two months. Money is money.

Then there’s the kind that follows the ideal of noblesse oblige; if she had to guess, Dimitri seems like a Faerghan nobleman. They’re famous for holding a high standard for themselves of what constitutes as the “right” thing to do, almost to the point of inflexibility. Honour, chivalry and all that high-minded nonsense. Byleth doesn’t necessarily dislike them – even respect them for expecting so much of themselves and using their power for those less fortunate – but they don’t tend to be very…down-to-earth.

As a milder example, her mercenary company was once employed by this man who requested them to hunt game to feed a village that lived on his land, not seeming to realise the food would’ve probably only lasted the people a week and that a sounder request would be to teach the villagers themselves to hunt.

Thinking back on Dimitri’s certainty that sparing the bandit would not ever come back to bite him in the ass…it really reminds her of that nobleman.

Claude is an entirely different can of worms. Byleth looks at him and can only think, _Type 3_. There’s a certain brand of nobles that Jeralt would never accept requests from, the kind that wouldn’t say what they wanted until you’ve agreed to help them.

 _“And when you agree,”_ her father would say, _“When you’re done with the job and have collected your pay, they would want your head to silence you.”_

One person can keep a secret, but not two.

At least Type 1 would tell you in your face if they wanted you dead.

She wants to chuckle. _I’m in danger, aren’t I?_

Oh well. What’s life without a little excitement?

“Are you headed for the Officers Academy, by any chance?” Edelgard asks, completely brushing off Claude’s antics. Byleth sees him looking over her head, tiny as she is, nearly pouting at the girl’s clear dismissal.

“Ah, I am, actually,” Byleth replies slowly, smiling wanly. What gave her away, anyway? Besides recognising their uniforms, she hadn’t–

Byleth stops, remembering.

_Shit. I used my crest. They saw my crest. They think I’m some noble girl. They think I’m going to be a student._

A chill goes down her spine.

_Dad is going to kill me._

“Byleth!”

“Shit,” Byleth blurts, not caring for the startled looks on the three students’ faces. She brings her clasped hands up, closing her eyes and praying dramatically, “Oh, divine Seiros, I know I’ve always said you were full of crap, but please, hear my humble plea for mercy–”

“Byleth!” Her father is shouting, audibly hacking away at the foliage to get to her. Byleth finds herself heavily sweating.

“Um, that man is calling for you,” Claude broaches, his formerly confident expression now faintly nervous. Byleth doesn’t blame him; her father can be scary when he wants to be.

“Should we fight…?” Dimitri questions unsurely, hand reaching for his lance. Edelgard is already clutching her axe, coiled with tension as she places herself in Jeralt’s war path.

 _Oh, you fool,_ Byleth thinks, strongly reminded of a little kitten trying to stand up against a lion. She appreciates the gesture, at least, though logically she knows Edelgard only wants to repay the favour.

Byleth groans under her breath, before pulling herself up, spinning around with her arms held wide (to embrace inevitable doom), and yelling with excessive cheer, “ _Heeey, dad!_ Good of you to show up to the party! I was afraid you had missed my invitation, hahahaha…”

Jeralt reaches her, his usually passive expression replaced with a severe frown. Though typically a quiet and peaceful man, her father’s anger is a force to be reckoned with and Byleth has long learnt to fear it. She slaps a smile on her face, determined to at least perish with grace.

“Did you fight someone?” He asks tersely, glancing shortly at the trio and narrowing his eyes at their uniforms. Edelgard has retreated upon hearing their relation, though neither her or the other two have relaxed yet, tense beneath his gaze.

 _Shit, he must've seen my crest glowing,_ Byleth wants to weep. Why do crests have to be so goddamn flashy? Hers literally sets itself aflame!

“Oh, yeah, but it’s not them,” Byleth laughs nervously, stepping between him and the students to protect them from his glare. Unlike them, she has at least some defense from his wrath, by manner of resistance built throughout her childhood (and adulthood, if she’s being honest). “They’re just three little lamb that strayed from their herd.”

“Lamb…?” She hears Dimitri mutter, baffled and maybe a little insulted, and reaches back without looking to slap a hand over his mouth. He yelps, but goes still when Jeralt’s eyes fall upon him.

Awkward silence hangs between them, until Jeralt turns his stare back on Byleth. She drops her hand, allowing Dimitri to breathe a sigh of relief.

“You used your crest,” he enunciates, seeming to calm down. Byleth knows better. “Was it necessary?”

Byleth smiles, clasping her hands behind her back and putting on her most innocent face. She thinks about lying, before remembering her father would somehow be able to _tell_.

“Not strictly,” she chirps.

He gives her a pointed look, The One that says “we’ll talk later.” Byleth stubbornly flashes her teeth at it, grinning with forced enthusiasm. _Can't wait, dad!_

“I apologise for my daughter,” he tells the nobles, his voice lowering to his normal tone and benign for the time being, “I hope she hadn’t caused you much trouble.”

Though her normal response to this would've been an indignant squawk, Byleth just keeps her frozen smile, letting them speak in her defense.

“Oh, no, sir, of course not!” Dimitri blabbers, all highborn grace gone and clearly still quite anxious. “We were accosted by bandits earlier. Your daughter saved us!”

 _You’re already my favourite one,_ Byleth thinks gratefully, nearly crying. Her father has always been a sucker for a good rescue story.

“Yeah!” Claude chimes in, gesturing wildly at the disembodied thumb on the ground. “Here’s the bandit’s thumb as proof!”

Her heart nearly stops.

 _The thumb as proof?!_ Byleth wants to scream. _Who even says that?! Are you doing this on purpose, you shady piece of shit? I’ll kill you, pretty boy!_

Edelgard, thankfully, jams her elbow into Claude’s side, giving him a side look. “What he _means_ is,” she clears her throat, “We likely wouldn’t be here without her intervention, sir. We owe her our thanks.”

Byleth holds her breath, still fervently praying to all manner of gods as they await her father’s verdict. It probably only takes him a second, but it is one she spends recounting all her life’s mistakes that led up to this point, cursing herself for being a certifiable idiot.

“I see.”

_Ah, this is it… Farewell, world… It is time for me to join Mother…_

“In that case, I’m glad she was here to help you out of that ordeal. I hope milords and milady are unhurt.”

“Oh, we’re quite alright!” Edelgard gives a winning smile and it is then Byleth decides she doesn’t trust any of them but her to speak. “Thank you for the concern, sir. It is truly our fortune that Byleth came upon us when she did. She is very strong. You must be proud.”

Jeralt smiles and it is like the clouds have parted for the heavens to shine upon her. Byleth’s shoulders become slack with relief. She did not expect the girl to be such a sweet talker, but her life is all the better for it.

“The woods this far out are dangerous, milady,” her father says, before addressing all three of them. “Incidentally, my company and I are heading for Garreg Mach Monastery. Perhaps we should make the journey back together?”

“Yes, that will be best,” Dimitri pipes in next, smiling more easily now that Jeralt is not looking at them with an unsmiling face. “Please! Allow us to guide you.”

The conversation continues like that as they begin walking by Jeralt’s side, heading for camp. It flies over her head, filled with more flowery words and pleasantries than she cares to bother with. Byleth doesn’t move for a moment, exhaling a sigh, before realising that Claude has lingered behind.

“Your dad is kinda scary, huh?” He says. It sounds innocent enough, until one looks at the sly grin on his face. She knows when she’s being mocked.

Byleth stares at him flatly for a beat, before inhaling deeply and stepping into his personal space.

“Try that again and I’ll make you eat _your_ thumb,” she promises, almost nose-to-nose with him. For extra measure, she adds, " _Both of them_."

Claude blinks, wide-eyed; Byleth doesn’t let him get a word in edgewise, flouncing away to follow the others.

She hears a laugh behind her.

“At least buy me dinner first, _milady_.”

Byleth almost wishes she had died to the bandit.

**Author's Note:**

> Byleth: * literally threatens Claude *  
> Claude: "That's so kinky... But that's like my third base and we only just met, so dinner?"  
> Byleth: * incoherent screaming *
> 
> Jokes! So anyway, just proofread it. If this were a dating simulator, the choices would probably be like...  
> [(Sothis voice) What shall you do?]  
> A: Kill the bandit. Scum who profit off of others' suffering don't deserve mercy. (+Edelgard Heart)  
> B: Spare the bandit. Death is too permanent a punishment and should be avoided. (+Dimitri Heart)  
> C: Find a middle ground. Spare the bandit, but make sure he can't hurt anyone anymore. (+Claude Heart)
> 
> Duality of Byleth be like
> 
> First impression: Byleth being an actual embodiment of wrath and scaring the fuck outta Dimitri and Edelgard lowkey going doki-doki for her
> 
> Second impression: Byleth reveals she's an actual dumbass when angry dad approaches. (Though she was dumbass all along. Who even responds to an angry noble's call for your head by faking your own death and going back to said angry noble to collect the prize money?)
> 
> Title refers to Claude because Byleth liked the others fine while he pissed her off lmao. It's a working title, I might change it.
> 
> I wanted to write a prequel to Day After Death, to explore Byleth's brush with death and her first meeting with the three house leaders (which I wrote a headcanon of in my tumblr of the same name). Then I realised: ah wait...how would Jeralt react.
> 
> Not mentioned, but Jeralt doesn't want her using the crest because it brands a person as a noble - which she isn't. This, of course, could be wildly inaccurate since the game isn't out yet lol. I saw in one of the promotional trailers that Rhea says smth like "you must be confused by this power you have" so I assume Byleth already has the crest from the beginning... Idk, she can't be referring to Sothis' Divine Pulse, right...?
> 
> I might make a continuation of Byleth/Claude. Maybe lol. And maybe Byleth/Dimitri and Byleth/Edelgard, who knows.
> 
> Four more days to FE3H!!


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